


Hear my soul speak

by Rosaliss



Category: If We Were Villains - M.L. Rio
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Canon, not enough shakespeare quotes, what happens next
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 20:21:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20476922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosaliss/pseuds/Rosaliss
Summary: "I twist the letter in my hands, read it for the hundredth time, as if I don't already know Pericles's words by heart. But it's James's calligraphy, the ink spilt by his pen, the letters traced by his hands, and what this verses might mean. If my suspects are right, and this whole trip isn't just wishful thinking, it means that James is alive. That I'll see his face after four years, and I'll be able to ask him why, and tell him everything."Yes, it's one of those fics.





	Hear my soul speak

**Author's Note:**

> *taps on mic* Hello, is anyone here? Hi. Excuse my awkward introduction. Anyway, I finished reading this book a couple of days ago and wrote this on a whim because... well, if you're here you know why. IWWV has one of those endings that force you to either write a "What happens next?" fic or give up your sanity altogether. Or both. So, here's my addition to that category.
> 
> Needless to say, the title is from Shakespeare, namely from The Tempest.

_What I have been I have forgot to know;_  
_But what I am, want teaches me to think on:_  
_A man throng'd up with cold: my veins are chill,_  
_And have no more of life than may suffice_  
_To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;_  
_Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,_  
_For that I am a man, pray see me buried._

  


I twist the letter in my hands, read it for the hundredth time, as if I don't already know Pericles's words by heart. But it's James's calligraphy, the ink spilt by his pen, the letters traced by his hands, and what this verses might mean. If my suspicions are correct, and this whole trip isn't just wishful thinking, it means that James is alive. That I'll see his face after four years, and I'll be able to ask him why, and tell him everything.

It was raining when the plane landed in London but in the two-hours train trip the grey clouds gave way to a pale sun. The tepid sun is still shining when I arrive in the centre of the town and realize that I don't have a plan, only a suitcase, a four-year-old letter, and futile hope.

Filippa watched me with a raised eyebrow when I told her my plan.

"It's good that you want to travel, Oliver, but isn't it," she waved her hand in a vague gesture, "too much?"

She misses an important piece, though: she hasn't read the letter, she doesn't know that James might be alive. I haven't told her, in fear that saying it out loud might make it untrue.

She let me go without saying anything, in the end, persuaded maybe by me, maybe by Camilo, who thought it was a good idea, or maybe simply by the fact that I'm a free man, now, and she can't prevent me from doing whatever I choose to do. I mentioned it to Alexander over the phone, and to Leah; telling Meredith didn't seem fair, so I didn't. None of them suggested I went and visit Wren in London—it sounded ridiculous to all of us.

My plan is ridiculous, too. And yet, coming here was the natural thing to do. Even if I won't find him.

The first place I go to is the theatre, of course, but I search in vain. Then the house, on the main street, and the grave. My heart leaps every time I see someone that looks like him, but it's never him. I ask around. With every step I take, I wonder if he's waiting for me, if he'll appear at the next corner, at the next place indicated on every tour guide, but he never does.

He's not in the theatre, or the house, or the cemetery.

I find him by the river.

He's sitting on the shore, arms around his legs and knees tucked under the chin, and for a moment I fear that my eyes are playing tricks, that it's just someone who resembles him, or that he's not there at all, a mere hallucination, but then he turns around and my breath catches in my throat.

James.

His eyes widen when he sees me, and his mouth falls open. I stare at him for a bit, too incredulous to move, too dizzy and happy and utterly scared, then I smile.

"James."

"Oliver," he says. "What are you doing here?"

Me: "What do you think? I'm here for you."

James: "You're out."

Me: "Yes."

James: "You read my letter."

Me: "Yes."

James: "You found me."

At this point, I've covered the steps that separated us, and I sit down next to him on the humid grass.

"You asked for my help, and here I am." I sigh. I'd like to close my eyes, but the thought of tearing them away from James now that I have him in front of me is unbearable. He looks older than his thirty-one years and more fragile than he did when we were in school, but he's still James, I can see it in his eyes, that have already started to water. "When I got out of prison, you were my only thought. Seeing you, talking to you, solving this thing. Then Filippa told me you were gone."

James looks surprised. "You didn't know?"

"She was afraid that I might have done something stupid if she told me, so she kept it a secret. I can't blame her; I was a mess when she told me."

"I'm sorry."

"No, James, I don't think you understand: I thought you were dead."

"But then you read the letter."

"But then I read the letter, and the article on your death, and I was sure it couldn't be a coincidence. Pericles, Theisa, the sea. That night at the beach. You're too smart for that." I smile at him, and the corners of his mouth twitch. "And so here I am. Stratford-upon-Avon, Thaisa's temple."

James finally smiles, pleased that I solved his riddle. "I could have been in a billion other places."

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I followed other leads, too. I was ready to go to the Globe, Del Norte, all the places where Shakespeare's plays are set, from Italy to Denmark. To Ephesus, like Pericles: that would have been my second destination, but Stratford-upon-Avon was first on my list. I hoped you were waiting for me."

"I was. I didn't know if you were going to find me, or even look for me, after everything that happened. I didn't even know if I wanted you to." He raises his eyes from where they were staring to the ground and look into mines. "But you're here now."

"It's your turn to tell a story."

"_I long to hear the story of your life, which must captivate the ear strangely._"

“I don’t want to talk with William Shakespeare, I want to talk with James Farrow.”

James takes a deep breath and shifts his gaze to the river. "I went to New York for a while," he starts after a moment of silence. "Nothing's better than a big city when you want to fade into anonymity. I had money and contacts, getting fake documents wasn't that hard, and in New York no one asks where you're from or if you have blood on your hands. Exit James Farrow, enter Will Seaver. I went to see Alexander, once, in one of his shows. They were doing _Henry V_. It was mesmerizing to watch, it was like coming back home. I waited for him in the back alley afterwards. He was with Colin and some other people I didn't recognize, fellow actresses and admirers. He was grinning, and his eyes were glowing with the post-show adrenalin. He didn't see me, and I didn't show myself. It was better that way." He stops to take in another deep breath. "I've spent the last four years acting, playing every character in this world except myself. Even before, sometimes I wondered if I was truly myself or just the character Gwendolyn and Frederick had given me back in our first year. Sometimes I still do."

We're sitting very close, only a few inches between us. My hands are itching with the urge to touch his beautiful, sad face, to wipe the lonely tear that's fallen from his eye, but his story isn't over, and I refrain.

"But I'm not the hero anymore. I'm the villain, and I've been playing my part for years, I've been acting with every job, every house, every new town and person I met, and yet my eyes don't have the glowing Alexander's had that night, that mines had when I was at Dellecher with all of you. And so I went on. I dyed my hair black and wore coloured lenses, changed the way I walked and talked. I grew a beard." He scoffs. "You wouldn't have liked it."

"You look like yourself, now," I say, studying his light hair and shaved face.

"It wasn't worth the bother. No one was looking for me, they all assumed I was dead. Even if I look like I did when I was twenty, they don't want to know the truth, so they won't look for me."

"You're wrong," I say. I want so hard to convince him that he's wrong. I wanted to see him, I looked for him. I love him.

The expression on his face is resigned and incredibly grim. "Am I? My parents didn't care even back then, and the others hate me."

"They're your friends, they don't hate you."

Though his eyes are still fixed on the river, it looks like he's watching something that belongs to a faraway world. He raises his voice when he speaks again. "They know it was me, they know you ended up in jail because of me. Filippa knows, Meredith knows, I'm sure Alexander knows, I saw it in his eyes during the trial. Wren, maybe she doesn't, but I doubt she'd like to see any of us, and me in particular."

"I thought you would have married her."

That seems to bring him back to earth. He snaps his head towards me and blinks. "Who, Wren?"

"Yeah, after I was locked away."

He looks genuinely baffled when he says, "Why would I have done it?"

I shrug. "I thought you were in love with her. And, really, what was the other option?"

"You didn't think I would have waited for you?"

"It was a long time."

"Yes, Oliver, time that you did because of me!"

"I don't want you to feel in debt with me. You don't owe me anything, and you certainly don't owe me love. I did what I did because I wanted to, and I don't regret it."

"Owe you love? What are you saying?" His whole body is turned towards me now. "Oliver, I wasn't in love with Wren. I slept with her to make you angry, to make you jealous, to make you feel something, because I was angry and jealous and—and felt something. I thought you’d figured it out!"

It's my turn to look at the river that streams before us. My mind goes back to that night, and to the day after, when I made his bed while the blinding jealousy threatened to eat me alive—he's right, it did make me feel things—, when I found the bloody boat hook.

Colborne is the next to come to mind, inevitably.

"A friend once told me he thought you were enamoured with me because I was enamoured with you."

"Do you think so too?"

"I entertained the thought for a while. It was entirely possible, but it didn't feel right, it didn't explain everything. What we had—what we have—has always been real, even when we didn't realize it was. I just think that it's something that eludes words."

"What we have," James repeats in a small voice.

I turn towards him and give him a soft smile. "What I hope we have." I raise a hand and bring it near his face. I keep looking in his eyes. I feel my breath tremble and my hand shake just a little bit, and he nods, and then finally, _finally_, I lay my palm on his cheek.

"What we have," James says again, and then we're kissing.

His lips are soft against mines, and I taste the sweetness of my heart's desires. The ten years that have passed between this kiss and our last weight painfully on my chest, and I bite his lip, as I did that time on stage. He must remember too because he gasps and another warm tear rolls down his cheek. My mouth leaves his to kiss it.

When I pull away, my eyes are filled with tears too. I raise my free hand and lay it on his other cheek and move my thumbs lightly, revelling in the feeling of his wet skin under my fingers, of his breath on my mouth, so close after all these years. My eyes are locked on his, inspecting every light and shadow, so I don't need to look at his lips to see that he's smiling.

"Come with me," he says. He stands up and offers me his hand.

"Where?" I ask, taking his hand.

"Are you hungry?"

The question is so out of place in this fragile, long-dreamt moment between us that I can't help but laugh. "Eating is the last of my thoughts, now."

James smiles sheepishly. "There's a bakery not far from here that sells pastries for nothing after five; we're in time to buy something."

I sigh and follow him, still holding his hand. We buy two muffins, chocolate for me and carrot and sunflower seed for James, at the bakery he mentioned. We go to Shakespeare's Birthplace, talk and laugh while James points at the details of the facade to me with his half-eaten muffin, and then to James's flat and his bed, where again we talk and laugh and get lost in each other's caresses.

The night falls and the darkness covers our stilled bodies. The moonlight shines through the window and illuminates James's pale and naked skin, transforming it into something otherworldly. I trail my fingers on his stomach and hip bone, unable to stop touching now that I finally can.

He's playing with a string of my hair, and I see the question that he doesn't want to ask me in the wrinkle on his brow. I smooth it with a kiss.

"Tell me," I whisper.

He stops torturing my hair and bites his lower lip, then he says, "Do you forgive me?"

"Do you forgive me?"

He huffs. "Don't be contrary just for the sake of it. I'm serious. I wasn't happy with your choice, you know as much, but I don't have anything to forgive you, so don't say it."

"Neither do I," I say.

"It's my fault. All of it."

"You didn't mean to do it. But what we did in the morning... that was deliberate. And we all agreed. We're all to blame."

"What are you going to do now?" James asks out of the blue.

"What do you think? I don't want to lose you now that I've found you, so I'll stay here, if you want me."

"What will the others say?"

"After you went away, Filippa was pretty much the only one to visit me. Alexander lived too far away. I met him after my release. I still love him like a brother, but he'll be fine without me, and so will Filippa and Leah. You know Pip, she's always been the strongest out of us. I don't intend to lose her, but we'll be okay even if we're an ocean away."

His muscles stir under my hand, and he turns his head so that he's facing the ceiling and not me when he asks, "Did you see Meredith?"

"She didn't come to visit often when I was inside, but when I went to her she let me stay. Back in fourth year, I'd chosen you over her. When I found out you were alive, I chose you again."

Meredith doesn't know about James, but I'm sure she knew he was still with me when we lived together. I could see it in the way she looked at me after kissing me. She'd hoped that, with James gone, we'd have a chance. She hadn't considered that James wasn't truly gone, not even when I thought he was. It wasn't fair to let her live with his ghost. She deserves more than a guy in love with someone else. She wasn't surprised, when I left, only resigned.

"Look at me," I say. I turn his face with a hand on his chin. His eyelashes flutter, and we're so close that I can almost feel it on my skin. "I will always choose you."

"I don't want you to think that I like you just because you like me, or that I have a second plan. I don't want you to think that you aren't important to me."

I nod. "Okay."

"Of course I want you to stay here. Maybe it's selfish, but I do. You have no idea how many times I've dreamt about this, about you finding me, kissing me, deciding to stay with me. So listen carefully to what I'm about to say, and don't think that my words mean something different than what they're saying." His hand comes up to trace the outline of my lips and jaw, and he takes his time wandering over my skin with his fingers before saying, "I love you."

My eyes prickle again and I can't help the grin that forms on my lips. "I believe you," I say. "I love you."

I push him down on his back and kiss him, slow and deep, letting my mouth linger on his, then I tuck my head in the crook of his neck and stay there, lips pressed against his shoulder, inhaling the pungent and sweet smell of skin and sweat. His arms wrap tightly behind me, and this moment I swear that everything is right.

We'll never be able to go back to how things were before, and we'll never be free of our guilt, but in James's embrace, the world hurts less.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! A couple of things:
> 
> 1) James's new name:  
Will: a homage to Shakespeare, obviously  
Seaver: according to the internet, it comes from the Old English name Saefaru, formed by sae "sea, ocean" and faru "journey"; it seems fitting since James "died" at sea and then travelled across the ocean
> 
> 2) Meredith deserves better than being seen as an object and having relationships with violent assholes and guys in love with someone else.
> 
> 3) I need to talk about this book, and James's character in particular, but I don't know anyone who's read it, so if there's someone here reading this fic, and if that someone is willing to talk about it with me, please let me know!!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading if you did! Comments are always welcome, I promise I don't bite. Have a wonderful life!


End file.
